


Ocean Fairytale

by Aithilin



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Implied Character Death, M/M, Merfolk AU, fairytale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-04
Updated: 2017-11-04
Packaged: 2019-01-29 08:26:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,142
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12627000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aithilin/pseuds/Aithilin
Summary: Ignis had travelled the world before he settled on  Accordo and opened his own little restaurant.





	Ocean Fairytale

**Author's Note:**

  * For [JazzRaft](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JazzRaft/gifts).



> Also at my [Tumblr](aithilin.tumblr.com).

Ignis had grown up in the forests of Tenebrae. When he was young, the sea was just a distant concept— it existed far beyond the lush greens of the ancient and gnarled Tenebraen Oaks, with their long and twisted branched that made even the brightest day seem like the chill nights of summer. He had grown up thinking “sea” was synonymous with the vibrant green leaves, broad and interlocked below the towers of the city, rippling like waves as far as the eye could see. He grew up on the understanding that somewhere beyond his little kingdom was a stretch of vast ocean that shifted from the clear, crystalline blues of the warm southern coasts, to the grey and foreboding white-capped curls of the cold northern stone and chalk cliffs. 

He remembered the river fish— the small things, fat and cold as they moved through the rivers and were dragged up in the light nets. He remembered a childhood of watching his family, his uncle, pass on the best cuts and stories of the best rivers. Wild stories of giant fish the rivers could not sustain, who vanished in snapped wires and torn nets. And the way the scraps would be tossed into the gardens while the smallest fish left out on the stoop for the creatures which slipped through the shadows and magics of the deep forest. 

He also grew up with stories of gnomes and fey creatures, the sort who fed on fruits and children alike, and who spirited those who wandered too far from the royal magics of the Nox Flueret family into the darkness below the deepest expanse of forest. He grew up with reminders to leave out bowls of creams and scraps of bread, and little coins he could spare (lest they slip from his pockets when he needed them most). 

It was a habit by now. 

There was a coin on the lintel— now covered in dust and ignored, forgotten by anyone who had stumbled across the oddity, and never moved. There was a glass bowl left out most nights, the smallest fish from the day’s takings joined by a saucer of milk for the stray cats of the docks. 

Ignis had grown up with the magics of the forests. He hadn’t even seen the ocean until he was twenty, and travelling to study. He hadn’t realised how large a fish could get, until he saw the early morning markets in Galahd selling off tuna the size of him. He didn’t think to pair a rich salmon with something that was not sweet, or to do anything more than shave it lightly as a side, until he sat down with the chef of the little restaurant he was hired in and shown a seasonal menu that served the fish as a main dish. As a steak. As a cut of meat rather than an afterthought of unique flavour to blend with the sweetness of berries and syrups. 

When he searched to open his own restaurant, he insisted that it be on the ocean. 

The rolling waves had calmed him— the expanse and promise of the endless horizon, with its ever changing greys and blues.

The ferry to the little village in Accordo, separated from the grandiose capital of Altissia by a narrow channel and a line of mountains. It was smaller, quieter, and he had found a home on the wide, sturdy docks that had weathered centuries and wars alike. The curve of the old pier supported by ancient beams as thick as the old oaks from back home had stretched over the ocean, with the weathered building sturdy in its place, despite the exposure to the wrath of whatever sea gods watched over the island nation. 

His first act when he bought the little building was to place the coin from Tenebrae on the lintel. Then he set to work.

The open space of the lower level was changed from shop to restaurant, small and inviting and decorated in the leafy manner of Ignis’ homeland. He ensured the walls were bright, the windows made larger, the shine of stone facade whitewashed clean. 

Prompto— his first hire in this new land— said it reminded him of Altissia, but with more flowers. 

A wall opened to the pier— a small patio to admire the view Ignis had fallen in love with. 

Fruits and vegetables were ordered in from his home with his uncle’s help. The spices from Galahd ferried over with Nyx’s confident smile and well wishes (and drinks to toast the new venture), the dried herbs strung up from the rafters outside the kitchen to join the dried sylleblossoms for luck. Cheeses from Lucis, wines from Altissia… and a menu Ignis had kept as simple as possible within his meagre means. 

The fish he caught fresh, with a net salvaged from the old building he had repaired and slipped over the edge of the pier one night before he retired to the apartment above the restaurant. There were traps lowered each morning as he waited for his coffee, and raised the next if the buoyant lure had dropped beneath the waves. 

And like the rivers back in Tenebrae, he left the smallest of the day’s catch out for the creatures who brought him his luck. 

“You’re going to attract them, you know,” Prompto warned once. At the end of service, the other man liked to sit at the edge of the dock, sore feet dipped into the water as they watched the sunset. 

The village was too small to sustain a full dinner service this early in the season. He was assured that there were tourists who ventured out this way on the island tours, who would ask for dinners that lasted late into the night and begged for bottles of wine regardless of the hour. For now, it was just lunch and early dinner, and a labour of love. The fishermen and locals seemed to appreciate the quickly prepared warm meals. And the exotic mixtures Ignis had cobbled together through his studies and childhood and travels. 

“The cats?”

“The fish.”

“Yes, that’s the point, Prompto.” 

“No, the other kind of fish.” 

The scraps were tossed into the water before service, or left in buckets to draw the larger creatures into his nets. The smallest of the herring, the minnow, whatever was unfortunate to be tangled in the morning, left in the bowl for the creatures Ignis had carried with him from the dark forests and white halls of his childhood. 

At the curious look from Ignis and the sip of coffee to indicate that he wouldn’t interrupt, Prompto explained:

“You know, the seafolk— half human, half fish or whatever? They’re magic and sort of lazy, I guess. I mean, they go in for free meals, and sort of just show up to cause trouble.”

“I see.”

“Hey, I’m just the messenger. Didn’t you ever hear of them?”

“No. I grew up in a forest.”

“Oh.”

“Goodnight, Prompto.”

He smiled as the man, his first friend on the islands, scrambled back to his feet and picked up the comfortable shoes he wore for services. With a wide smile and a mock salute, he was down the road and on his way home. Ignis knew that he would be back in the morning, just as cheerful and eager, and stealing the samples left out to remind the energetic man to eat before their service started. 

And once Prompto had moved on, Ignis waited, and watched the coil and curl of the ocean move. He listened as it slapped at the supports and sturdy wood of his pier, the creak of the wood barely heard between the lapping waves. He wondered, briefly if Prompto was more than just superstitious. He wondered what these strange creatures would look like, if he saw them. If they were like the sirens the old fishermen talked about on the shores of Galahd. 

He left a cut of the day’s catch out. It was gone by morning. 

The cream in the saucer left for the cats was untouched. 

There was another cut left the next night. He gave it a light sear on a whim, and a sprinkle of seasoning from the mixture used at dinner. 

Two of his lobster traps, filled, were waiting for him on the docks the next morning. 

“Clearly the way to befriend these fish of yours is to feed them,” he told Prompto one day before service, as the tables were set and the wines prepared. 

“What? Why would you befriend them? They eat people, and cut nets, and steal things, and—”

“Have you ever actually seen one?”

“I think so.”

Ignis paused, knife hovering mid-chop, the point digging into the cutting board as he watched Prompto fluster and laugh and blush at the sudden focus. “Really?”

“I was a kid. It was weird.”

“And?”

“And I fell off some rocks over on the beach and hit my head. This other kid who had a fish tail saved me.”

“It’s possible you were hallucinating.” Ignis scrapped the carrots aside to where they could be stored until needed.

“Obviously, dude. I’m pretty sure all the stories say they’d eat me.”

“There’s hardly enough meat on you as an adult for one meal. I can’t imagine how disappointed this fish must have been when you were a child.”

“Hey!”

There were two days a week that the restaurant was closed. Two days where Ignis managed the inventory and shipments, Prompto chattering happily about his photography as they worked to list and check and itemise everything that came in— from the fruits ordered or gifted, and Nyx’s regular shipments of new bottles of whatever he had deemed necessary to broaden Accordo tastes. Two days where the labour lasted a handful of hours, and they could rest for the rest of them. Where the kitchen was prepped for the next week and the markets were scoured for something new. 

Two days when Ignis had started to realise he felt like he was being watched. 

It wasn’t until the sky and sea turned grey with the cold weather blowing in from the Lucian coasts that he understood why. 

“Hello,” he greeted the silent creature with bright blue eyes one morning. 

The thing slipped away into the water and the deep shadows before anything else could be done. Before Ignis could remark that the creature hardly looked as terrifying as Prompto seemed to think. Before he could register that the creature had already picked through his nets and traps. 

There were more days off as the seasons ended, as the fishermen had pulled in their boats for the winters and turned to other means of work. The restaurant shortened to just lunched— served hot and fast, and adapted to the differences in the weather. There were hot stews and soups from Galahd— spiced and steaming to drive off the chill. There were sweet pastries from Tenebrae, with sprinkles of cinnamon and cardamom to fight off the colds and flus brewing over the greying waves. And there were the mixtures of both. Ignis’ own creations as he set the hearty stews of Lucis against the spiced rums of Galahd, or the softness of Tenebrae with the rich flavours cultivated from Altissia. 

Most of his regulars left for the city for the season. To brave the festivals and wait out the chill in the city build on history and ruins beneath the waves. 

Others stuck around, stepping in for a quick lunch as their fishing switched focus, as crops changed, as the island wound down into a sort of hibernation. 

Prompto left for the city for a few weeks at a time. He sent back letters and photographs and samples of whatever interesting thing he found in the floating markets. 

And as the days grew shorter, there were far more times Ignis glanced out the windows of his restaurant, of his apartment above, to see the pale hands reaching for the fish he had yet to clean and store for the next service. 

“Hello,” Ignis tried again one evening, as he sat out on the deck, listening to the waves and making notes on his latest ideas. He had seen the movement from the corner of his eye, the creeping pale figure with its frilled midnight dark tail. With its wide blue eyes fixed on him in shock. “Would you rather something warm?”

Even in the shadows of Tenebrae, he had never seen the creatures of legend— the fey and gnomes and elves that collected the offerings left out beneath the trees and in gardens. Even in his childhood of trying to stay up all night to catch a glimpse of the source of the stories and myths. He had wandered through fairy rings and invited them in. He had left out gifts and offerings as he was taught, wary of the changing luck these invitations could mean. He had listened to the tall tales of monsters in the rivers and sirens on the coasts. 

He may have started believing in the sirens. 

The creature came back. Again and again, as the cold weeks of winter stretched on. 

Ignis learnt that the delicate stomach of the creature couldn’t manage stews until the steam had cooled. Milk and vegetables were cast aside, though Ignis thought that was more a preference than a product of a delicate constitution. Cakes and sweets were preferred in moderation, and anything with meat would immediately be investigated. 

“This is garula meat from Lucis,” Ignis explained as he let the creature pluck it from his outstretched hand. He had seen the flash of fangs in the smiles the creature gave him, in the glimpses taken as the creature tore into an offered meal. “Though I haven’t seasoned it yet.”

“You don’t need to.”

“Oh, are you talking now too?”

“Yes.”

Ignis his hid smile with a turned back, cutting another strip from the raw steak to offer the creature. 

There was a bucket of mollusks left for him a few days later. He left some of the stew he had made from them out overnight in a covered bowl, with a handful of the pearls gathered nearby. 

The creature offered him an obsidian knife a week later. It was gleaming and sharp, the same blackness as the creature’s tail, though the rough handled carved from bone and decorated with flakes of pearl and shell. It had cut his hand as he tested in. The creature licked the blood from his skin and disappeared into the waves. 

“Where’d you get the scar?” Prompto asked when he returned late in the season, bag of requested groceries slung over one shoulder and camera hanging from his neck on a long strap. “Please tell me it was exciting.”

“Not in the least,” Ignis took the bag to root through it. “What have you brought me this time?”

The creature’s name was Noctis. 

“You look funny, dude,” Prompto said as he started setting out tables and cleaning the cutlery. The season was slowly returning— the workers who had left for the city coming home to celebrate with a meal out. With a meal that wasn’t an Altissian concoction meant to be served in seven courses. “Did you meet someone?”

“How would meeting someone make me look ‘funny,’ as you put it?”

“I don’t know. You just have this look.”

“Prompto—”

“Lovesick! Wait, no, lovestruck, that’s the one.”

“I do not look lovestruck.”

“Dude, I was in Altissia, I saw a lot of that look on people.” Prompto offered his brightest grin, even as the dishcloth his friend threw at him landed on his shoulder. “And now you’re blushing.”

“I can fire you.”

“Shutting up.”

Noctis still picked the best fish from the nets, and still took the offered smaller fishes left out for the creatures like him. He now pulled himself up to the deck, as the days wore on and the people, happy and full and drunk moved on for the evening. He now sat, tail draped over the wood to wait for Ignis to join him with the leftovers of the day. Most nights, they watched the rising moon together, and Ignis pointed out the stars he knew the names of, while Noct taught him how to use the same stars to navigate.

“You should come swimming,” Noctis said, when the moon was full and the water was quiet. When the glowing barrelfish could be seen moving in languid patterns below the gentle waves. “I wouldn’t drown you.”

“I’m not a strong swimmer, I’m afraid.”

“I would take care of you.”

“Yes, I suppose you’d miss the free meals if I died.”

“I’d miss you.”

Ignis still wondered if it was a dream. If the pull of the creature beneath the waves— kissing him to breath oxygen into his lungs, disappearing into the dark to scout a path ahead to a secluded cave or a quiet stretch of beach before returning with that fanged grin— was just conjured up in his mind from lack of sleep. 

They had gone out one night to watch the shooting stars, to settle on the rocks far from the village beach and far from the familiarity of the restaurant. Noctis lay on the stone next to him as they watched the bright lights flicker and streak and burn out in the warm summer night, the dark waves lapping at his feet. 

“I wish you were like me,” Noctis said while they were out there, in the dark, alone. 

“Me too,” Ignis agreed. He smiled up to the stars rather than see the wishes in Noct’s eyes. “Back in Tenebrae, I was always told that a wish made on a shooting star could come true.”

“Really?”

“It was just a story.”

“What if you tried?”

Ignis remembered the burn of the water in his lungs and the way the darkness closed in around him. He remembered the slip of the rocks and the crush of the ocean as the stars and moon disappeared too far above. He remembered the look of fear and regret and absolute love in those bright blue eyes of the creature holding him. 

He wondered what Prompto would say. 

It was days before he saw the restaurant again. Weeks before he realised that the signs had been posted, that Nyx had been by. That Prompto had taken over. That the Galahdian man who tended a bar back in his own hometown had taken over at Prompto’s side. A new man— Ignis knew him vaguely from around town— Gladiolus, was coming and going with an arm around Prompto. 

It was months before Ignis pulled himself up to the deck, to leave a better catch for Prompto than the one he had been cleaning. 

“Iggy?!”

He slipped back into the water without speaking, back to where Noctis was waiting.


End file.
